


you think that i can’t see what kind of man you are

by inmoonlightigetseasick



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Blood Drinking, Comedy, First Kiss, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sex, Interviews, M/M, Master/Familiar dynamic, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, What We Do In The Shadows AU, it was my birthright to make alana bloom french canadian, mockumentary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28796046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inmoonlightigetseasick/pseuds/inmoonlightigetseasick
Summary: “How old was I when it happened?” Hannibal sniffs, staring straight at the camera with a cool irritation. “It’s rather rude to ask someone their age, but. I understand our agreement. No harm will come to your cameramen. This time.” He pauses for a long moment.“I was twenty.” He smooths a hand down his hair, which is streaked through with silver. “Life was tough for a twenty year old back then.”--After quitting the FBI, Will Graham now works as a familiar for Hannibal Lecter, a 14th century Lithuanian vampire. Having relocated to America sometime in the past few centuries, Hannibal passes a comfortable existence in Baltimore amid a thriving community of local vampires. For Will, part of the draw of this new job was a promise to be turned into a vampire himself, but it’s almost been a year, and Hannibal still hasn’t made good on his end of the bargain. As the anniversary of their strange relationship approaches, can Will discover the true reasons behind Hannibal’s reluctance or will trying break them apart for good?a vampire au, in the style of what we do in the shadows.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 100





	you think that i can’t see what kind of man you are

Will Graham steps out onto the porch of his secluded cabin in Wolf Trap, Virginia. The morning is misty, and Will is wrapped up warm in flannels and a cozy hat. A horde of dogs of all shapes and colours weave around his ankles, staring up expectantly at his hand which clutches a stick. He throws it with impressive athleticism and they run wild, barking and excited. A slow, satisfied smile spreads across Will’s face. He seems perfectly at peace. 

“So this is about when I turn in,” Will explains to the camera before ushering his dogs back into the house. “It’s just for a couple of hours. Then I have to get some of the daytime chores done for Hannibal. It’s definitely been an adjustment— sleeping while the sun’s out… but. It’s nice. It’s good practice for when I’m a vampire. And it has its perks. I don’t have to see too many people this way.” 

—

Will is a familiar. As the twilight sets in, our documentary crew, prepped with crucifixes and garlic, joins him for the drive into Baltimore, where he attends to his master, the vampire, Hannibal Lecter. 

“How did I become a familiar? In all honesty, I did it because Hannibal was there for me. And no one else was. My old job had been getting to me— for a while. I was having some issues with sleeping. I’d started sleepwalking, and I didn’t know how bad it had gotten until…well.”

“I found him wandering the streets in his underclothes,” Hannibal explains, staring coolly into the camera. “You could say I have just as much of a habit as he does of taking in strays."

Hannibal is poised. He wears a deep grey suit with thin ruby lines that criss cross in wide checks. He’s paired it with a matching waistcoat, crisp white shirt, and a paisley tie. He sits across from Will in his office, lit dim with lamplight, it is a vast space with bookshelves that reach the ceiling and a mezzanine level accessible by a ladder. Will leans against that ladder now, his hands are crossed over his chest. The air between him and Hannibal is tense. 

“Will, do you care to tell me why you are pouting?” 

“I’m not pouting,” Will replies, pouting. 

“If there’s something upsetting you, you need only say.”

Will sighs, pushing off of the ladder. “You know, you have a funny way of making me sound like a nagging wife.” 

“Your behaviour is unusually erratic tonight, Will. Are you certain you’re still sleeping well?” 

“Yes _doctor_ ,” Will snaps, his irritation seems to surprise Hannibal. “I’m not tired. I’m upset. You got it out of me.” Will has walked over to the desk where Hannibal sits, he looms over the vampire who tilts his head up curiously, gazes at him with an intensity that would make any mere mortal shiver. WIll stares back without shrinking. Perhaps it is a testament to how long he’s been working with Hannibal, little fazes him about the fearsome, ancient creature. 

“Tell me, Will. I will do what I can to fix it.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes,” somehow the vampire sounds breathless as Will leans in. His eyes flicker with interest at Will’s neck, exposed by the loose, open collar of his flannel shirt. 

“It’s almost been a year. Next week will be our anniversary. A whole year since you found me roaming the streets. Who knows what could have happened to me if you hadn’t showed up?”

“Hypothermia was likely. Or else you might have run into a coyote. They are mostly nocturnal.” 

“Just like another predator I know.”

“I wouldn’t have killed you, Will.”

Will smiles, his eyes are soft looking down at Hannibal, and the vampire’s gaze matches his. Will sidles closer, perches on the edge of Hannibal’s desk, and Hannibal rests a hand on his thigh. 

“You remember what you said to me that night?” 

“I promised to protect you. Just as you promised to assist me.” 

“You also promised to turn me.” 

All at once Hannibal’s demeanor changes. He looks around, as if just now becoming aware of himself. He shifts back into his chair, and then when that distance doesn’t satisfy him, he stands and walks across the room, leaving his familiar stunned and staring after him.

“This is not the time to have this conversation, Will.” 

“When can we have it, then? I’ve been waiting for _months_ to even broach this topic with you.” 

“Then another night should make no difference. There’s a body in my cellar that I need you to dispose of before you leave.” 

Hannibal picks up his briefcase and moves to leave. Will stares after him. 

“Close your mouth Will,” Hannibal says, shrugging on his coat, a fine dark wool thing, “You look like a trout.” 

Will gapes even more, “Hannibal—“

But the vampire has swanned out of the room. Will sighs, frustrated, and collapses into the chair Hannibal had just vacated, and sulks.

—

“I grew up in Lithuania,” Hannibal explains to the camera. “In those days it was the Grand Duchy. Our palace was some miles outside of Vilnius. It was a grand estate with lush forests for acres and acres. Easy to get lost in. Easier still to hide an intruder. It was around Easter, I was home from university when an ancient vampire killed my family, one by one, and he saved me for last. He found some mercy in those final moments and turned me. His blood was bitter and dark, but I remember feeling comforted by it. It smelled like my mother’s perfume. This vampire… his name was so fearsome it would strike a fatal terror in a mortal heart to hear it, it could petrify like Medusa’s gaze, it could cause an anxiety so deep and looming, it drove people mad. I think he goes by Kevin now.

How old was I when it happened?” Hannibal sniffs, staring straight at the camera with a cool irritation. “It’s rather rude to ask someone their age, but. I understand our agreement. No harm will come to your cameramen. This time.” He pauses for a long moment. 

“I was twenty.” He smooths a hand down his hair, which is streaked through with silver. “Life was tough for a twenty year old back then.” 

—

“I like working for Hannibal,” Will tells us, as he pulls a pair of bright yellow rubber gloves over his hands. “My last job was catching serial killers. So. It was pretty thankless.” 

He takes our camera crew through the impressive modern kitchen of Hannibal’s Baltimore home, and down the stairs into a cellar. He fetches a mop and bucket from a closet and ventures further. “I don’t think I envisioned cleaning up after him quite so much. Or picking up his dry cleaning forever I mean. That’s not what you think about usually when you think about a vampire’s familiar. Part of the deal was always that he’d turn me into a vampire. Eventually.”

He stops in front of a metal table whose surface is coated in broad streaks with dark, congealed blood. Some of it has seeped off the edges and stains the floor. Will moves to the sink in the corner of the room, fills the bucket with water and a bit of soap. He lugs the bucket closer to the table, plopping it down on the floor with a sigh. He starts to wipe down the table, his motions even and practiced.

“He doesn’t normally make too much of a mess,” Will explains. “But things happen. Sometimes they can feel what you’re about to do, they get scared, their heartbeat pounds and the pressure mounts enough that the jugular just spurts and gushes totally uncontrolled.” Will’s eyes have glazed over. He seems to forget himself before glancing at the camera and shaking his head. “Or so Hannibal has told me. He never lets me watch.” 

He continues his work. “I don’t have… bloodlust exactly. I wouldn’t say that I crave it. But I’ve thought about it a lot. It was kind of my job at the FBI, to think about killing people and I don’t know. Maybe if you do that enough you start to kind of want to, just to see what it would be like. I don’t know. I wouldn’t do it now. But turning. That’s a different story. It’s a sort of death, an un-death. Hannibal makes it seem like it’s peaceful, like the killing is meditative. I think that’s why I’d like to— to try.” 

—

Will comes back upstairs, and by this time the sun has set. It’s time to wake up Hannibal. Will washes his hands carefully in the kitchen sink and starts to cross through the living room to get to the stairs. But then he stops in his tracks. 

On the couch, there’s a teenage girl. She has long dark hair and a sullen, pale face, which stares at a smartphone in her hands. She is dressed strangely, in flannel pyjamas, a robe… and a dark pink paisley scarf wrapped around her neck. Will seems stunned at her presence. 

“Abigail?” 

She looks up, and smiles, bearing fangs. 

“Hey, Will.”

—

“Just talk to this camera?” Abigail asks, “No? Look at you? Okay.” 

Abigail settles into her chair, looking around a little nervously. She’s wearing a dark grey dress with thick, soft looking tights and ugg boots. She has a cardigan on, and another paisley scarf that covers her neck, right up to her chin. She tucks her hair behind her ears.

“My name is Abigail Hobbs, and I’ve been nineteen for two years now. I mean, at this rate, I guess I’m going to be nineteen forever. Hannibal is not my dad, but he turned me after my real dad died. I live with him in Baltimore now. And he homeschools me. Which… fine, taking in all of that together, I guess makes him my dad now. I know he wants me to think of him that way but.” She rolls her eyes, “I guess if you kill someone’s whole family, you get first dibs on replacing them? Maybe that’s like the vampire law.”

—

“I killed Abigail’s father,” Will says, staring into the camera. He still has one rubber glove on, it’s rolled halfway down like he forgot halfway through the action. He stares into the middle distance, dazed. “Hannibal was there, you can ask him. It’s when I was still with the FBI. Those first few months when we met. Garrett Jacob Hobbs, he was… he was a serial killer and… I thought that she was dead too. He let me think she was dead too. For a full year. But this whole time.” He takes a shaky breath. Then he stands. 

Our camera runs after him as he ambles up the stairs. In Hannibal’s bedroom, there’s a large coffin in place of a bed. Will grunts with the effort of lifting the lid, one hand still gloved slips a little, smearing some blood on the pristine coffin lid. When he’s propped it up, he glares down into the coffin, breathing heavily. 

Hannibal lies there, as still as a corpse. Slowly he blinks his eyes open. “Will?” he asks, his voice still scratchy from sleep. 

“Get up,” Will says, his voice as grave as we’ve ever heard it. “We need to talk.” 

Hannibal doesn’t move. “If this is about turning you again, I’m not having this conversation with you if you insist on being a petulant child—”

“It’s about Abigail.” 

Hannibal falls silent. He doesn’t look shocked, rather resigned. “You were to find out sooner or later.” Finally he sits up. Will moves back as he nears, letting him amble out of his coffin with an impressive amount of grace. His pyjamas look silken soft, and he steps into a pair of fluffy slippers, walking delicately around Will. 

“We’ll talk about it over breakfast.” 

And with those words he shooes Will and the cameras out of the room. Will doesn’t leave right away after Hannibal has closed the door. He puts a hand against the wood and sighs.

—

In the kitchen, Hannibal and Abigail sip from two mugs filled to the brim with thick, red blood, warmed up to body temperature. Will is happy with his mug of coffee, but Hannibal insists on making him a breakfast scramble with eggs and sausage to go with it.

“You don’t have to,” Will says, exasperated as Hannibal places his cast iron skillet over the flame, and picks out the eggs from the collection of groceries Will picked out for him this week. “You know I feel awkward because you can’t eat.” 

“As always, Will, I beg you to entertain me. Besides, you can take the leftovers and freeze them for the coming week.” 

Will grumbles, but after Hannibal places the food in front of him he seems to eat with relish. Hannibal looks on and smiles. 

The three of them sit in the nook in Hannibal’s kitchen. Hannibal has a newspaper in front of him, and Will helps Abigail puzzle over a calculus worksheet. If not for the fact that the time on the microwave display read 6:00 PM, they would look like any ordinary family having breakfast.

“So if I just factor this one,” Abigail says, her brow furrowed in concentration, “It should give me… x equals zero?” 

“Yes,” Will smiles, “See? You got it!”

Abigail smiles back. “Thanks, Will.” She shoves the piece of paper over to Hannibal. “I’m going to go now,” she announces, her voice more confident than her eyes which glance up nervously at Hannibal. He only nods his approval, taking a pen from the counter to begin correcting her work. 

Before Abigail leaves entirely, Hannibal says, “Don’t forget your essay on the Congress of Vienna is due in three days.” 

“Got it,” she calls, now halfway down the hallway without looking back. 

“And remember, I was there, so I will catch any errors!” 

“I said I got it!”

Hannibal smiles, and glances at Will, who isn’t smiling. Instead he’s looking at Hannibal with a quiet sort of intensity, it’s almost a smoulder. Slowly, Hannibal’s smile fades and he matches Will’s expression. The air between them grows tense. 

“I can’t decide,” Will says finally, “If I’m most furious at you for not telling me about her. Or for turning her before you turned me.” 

“Will, I was going to tell you in due time.” 

“I’m always here. How did you keep her hidden for so long?”

“I told her to stay out of the way, but by now this is just as much her home as it is mine.” 

Will swallows at that, his jaw is tense. “And is it not mine, too?” 

Hannibal sighs, resigned. “I had to turn Abigail in order to stop her from dying, that day, on Garrett Jacob Hobbs’s kitchen floor. She would have bled out before the paramedics got to her. What a waste it would have been.” 

Will sighs, he looks pained. “And we’re still not going to talk about turning me?”

Hannibal is silent for a long moment. “You should know that that conversation is just as contingent on your readiness as it is on my will.” 

“Oh that is such bullshit,” Will says, and he stands abruptly. 

“I hope you’re not planning on behaving like that at the opera tomorrow.” 

Will stares down at Hannibal, he takes a stabilizing breath. “I don’t want to go with you.” 

“Very well,” Hannibal replies, and he takes a long sip from his mug. Will still stands there, stunned. Soon his presence becomes awkward and Hannibal looks up at him again. “I will take Bedelia.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Will says to him finally before storming out of the room.

—

“He always makes me go to the opera,” Will says, his breath comes out in a harsh fog as he walks briskly down Hannibal’s street. “If I had said I didn’t want to go, didn’t want to be stuffed into a tux, didn’t want to be paraded around in front of all those vamps who look at me like they would drain me in half a second if they could, if I had said that two months ago, he would have ripped my head off. Not. Not literally. He wouldn’t shout or anything. I mean. He’s never lost his temper, no. He just would have been sullen and silent and _disappointed_ , and I’d feel like shit because— because I only ever wanted to do things to make him happy.” Will breathes heavily, raggedly. 

“I’ll take Bedelia, he says. Fuck.” 

— 

Will arrives at a condo in downtown Baltimore. He presses a keypad in the lobby and a female voice buzzes him in. 

He rides up the elevator and makes a beeline for one of the apartments. It is opened up by a young woman with black hair that curls at her shoulders. She wears a paisley blouse and a smart pencil skirt. She smiles at Will, her canines just a little sharper than normal. 

“Will! A welcome surprise! Come inside.”

Will follows her, still sulking. 

—

“I’m Dr. Alana Bloom,” she says, later, to our cameras. “I was born in 1650 in France. We were rather poor so my parents shipped me off to Canada as soon as they had the chance. I had adjusted pretty well. I was married for a spell and I was climbing the corporate ladder in the fur trade… when I met Hannibal.

“My first impression of him? I was impressed that he was talking to me like an equal. You didn’t really get that from men at that time, or a lot of men now. I remember thinking it was remarkable to meet a feminist from the 14th century. So I thought nothing of it when I pledged my eternal service to him as his familiar. He certainly promised more upward mobility than there was for women in the trading companies. 

“It was all a bit of a whirlwind after that. The biting. The turning. Then of course the human blood drinking. But the worst part of immortality has got to be the state of fashion these days. Honestly, is this the best we can do? I _would_ just wear my old clothes, god what I’d give for a bustle or a pair of _stays_ at the very least, but it’s like every couple of centuries some damned historians get into my stuff and put it all up on display. _Ben, c’est dommage._

“I did manage to hold on to this, though,” Alana says, and she pulls out a fluffy round cap which she balances carefully on her head. She smiles, proud. “Killed the beaver for it myself.” 

— 

Alana busies herself making him a cup of tea in the kitchen while Will takes a seat on a plush victorian couch. He stares up at a giant Group of Seven painting of a vast Canadian forest. Alana later tells us it was a courting gift she received from Emily Carr. The lush greens and blues of the work stand out and the painted waves seem to undulate in the dim lamplight of the room.

“Hannibal and I are in a fight,” Will says, calling into the kitchen.

Alana walks in balancing two mugs in her hands, she sets the one that’s steaming in front of Will. Her own mug is filled with a syrupy thick red liquid. She pats a sympathetic hand on Will’s knee.

“Poor thing. What’s happened this time?” 

“When Hannibal turned you, was he this reluctant about it? To the point where he wouldn’t even entertain conversation about it?” 

Alana blinks, “Well. No. He was always very open with me. He certainly didn’t hide any of the challenges. Maybe he thinks you’re not ready.” 

“I’ve been his familiar for _a year._ How long did he make you wait?”

Alana is quiet for a moment. “I don’t want to say.” 

“Oh come on.” 

She winces. “Two months?”

Will’s jaw drops. He opens his mouth and closes it again, perhaps intentionally gaping like the trout Hannibal didn’t want him to be. “Is he— is he _testing_ me or something?” 

Alana shrugs. “Is there something you think he hopes for you to accomplish before he deems you worthy of turning?” 

“I don’t know. What… what did you accomplish?”

Alana gives him a long, meaningful look. Will’s face blushes bright red and he takes a big gulp of his tea, wincing as he scalds his tongue. He takes a deep breath. 

“I can’t believe I’m going to ask you this, Alana, but will you help me seduce Hannibal?” 

—

“I’m making myself scarce this week,” Will says. It’s mid-afternoon and the daylight is streaming into Hannibal’s living room as Will tidies. He dusts and sweeps and mops, and when he’s done he’s careful to draw all the curtains back and secures them with a thick velvet rope. Will goes around turning on the lamps until the room is bathed once again in orange light. “Alana said that it might help with…” Will bites his lip, like he’s nervous to say it. 

Suddenly there are footsteps behind him. Will turns, and he’s surprised to see Hannibal. 

“You are still angry with me,” Hannibal says, not an accusation but a realization.

“I don’t remember you apologizing,” Will says, he flushes and looks surprised by his own boldness. Hannibal smiles and steps closer, stopping only when he’s firmly in Will’s space, forcing will to tilt his head up slightly to make eye contact. 

“You are correct. I have not apologized, and I have every intention of doing so. I confess I have indulged in the space you have given me, and I appreciate it has not hindered your service.” Hannibal’s hand comes up to grip the side of Will’s head, his thumb strokes softly against his neck, where the soft skin over Will’s jugular jumps a little with the force of his nervous pulse. Will’s grip on the duster tightens until his knuckles go white. Hannibal takes a long pause. “But now I find that I miss your company. Our anniversary is in two nights. You will allow me to cook you dinner. Please dress for the occasion.” 

Will’s face has paled, his eyes are wide as they gaze up at Hannibal. “Fine,” he says, his voice a little hoarse. “Yes, great, I’ll be there.” 

Hannibal smiles, revealing the the sharp points of his canines. Will’s eyes are wide, his breaths shaky, but he does not look scared.

—

Hannibal is walking down the street. It’s midnight and this particular Baltimore suburb is relatively secluded this late. 

“When you’ve been alive as long as I have,” he says, glancing back at the camera. “You learn to enjoy time to yourself. I often take these walks, by myself, to visit my dear friend Bedelia. Sometimes she will walk back with me, of course, not everyone is so accustomed to solitude as I have become. The massive redwoods of California watch everyone they love come to life, pass through the days, and finally die. They live on, growing and abiding. Alone. And they cope.”

He stops at a grand house, and rings the bell. 

After a few moments, a beautiful woman opens the door, she stands in a skintight dress, dark with a subtle paisley print. She smiles tightly and invites Hannibal in.

—

“I am Bedelia DuMaurier,” she says, staring at the camera with an incredible intensity. “I am Hannibal Lecter’s therapist. It’s alright, you can ask about my age. I am far too ancient to be caught up with whatever passes for politeness these days. I was Romulus’ and Remus’ nanny. And when they all caught fleas, it took me longer just to shampoo their mother than it took them to build that damn city. 

“Did he call me his dear friend? No, I don’t mind. I told Hippocrates to leave some room for gray areas in his oath, but I could count the number of times men have listened to women on one hand. 

“It’s wonderful that Hannibal comes to see me as much as he does. He is wonderful company. We have a… _wonderful_ bond. Though it did all ease up a bit— that is, I started to see him less once he found Will Graham. I think that he’s been very good for Hannibal. Perhaps Hannibal is a little too attached, he is only a familiar, after all. But. No, on second thought, maybe Hippocrates was right. I shouldn’t get into this any further. Did you have any other questions?

“Of course Sappho was good in bed.” 

—

Hannibal and Bedelia sit on armchairs facing each other in Bedelia’s office. It is a beautifully decorated room with thick velvet drapes and dark wood baroque furniture. The two ancient creatures regard each other like figures in a Caravaggio painting. 

“You’re not yourself,” Bedelia says, leaning forward and peering at Hannibal more closely. She drinks blood from a crystal wine glass. “Is this about Will Graham again?”

Hannibal is silent for a moment. He takes a drink from his own glass. “He _was_ avoiding me. He admitted it.” 

“You’ve hurt him.” 

“I’ve apologized.” 

“And he accepted it?”

“He agreed to dine with me on our anniversary.” 

“Oh.” Bedelia furrows her brow, she seems surprised. “I didn’t realize you had initiated a romantic relationship with him.” 

“No. No. There’s nothing romantic between us.” 

“What does the anniversary celebrate, then?” 

“When he became my familiar.”

There is a long silence between them. Bedelia tips the last dregs remaining in her glass into her mouth before speaking again. “I’m going to be honest with you, Hannibal, because you are my dear friend. This is highly unusual behaviour.” 

Hannibal makes a small, shocked sound. Then he presses his lips together in a thin line. He shakes his head. 

“He shouldn’t have this kind of power over you, Hannibal. He serves _you_.”

“Not for much longer.” 

“You think he’ll leave you?” 

“Once I turn him. As I promised.” 

Bedelia sighs. “He might stay. Have you considered that?” 

“He’s never been so impatient about it before. He basically demands it every time I see him. And he’s found out about Abigail.” 

“Perhaps it’s the way you’re holding on to him that’s driving him away more. You can’t suffocate him, Hannibal.” 

“If I let him go, he leaves. If I hold on, he leaves. Either way I lose.” Hannibal glares into the depths of his wine glass.

“There is a third option.” Hannibal looks up, eyes widened slightly in interest. “You can tell him how you feel.” 

“You know, sometimes I think Freud was right about you.” 

“And I think Lovecraft was right about _you_.” 

—

Will stands in the bleachers of a massive auditorium. It is packed with people who all cheer and watch as men in the center of the room, seated in chairs with big monitors, play a popular battlefield simulator video game. It is widely popular and highly competitive. Winners leave with massive amounts of money, but their glory might only be contained to the audience within these walls.

“This is an amazing place to find virgins,” Will says, scoping out the crowd. “Hannibal is always making me all this special food. I thought it would be nice to get him something too. For our anniversary and all. And it might help him feel… seduced. Like the vampire version of flowers and chocolate.” 

Suddenly, Will seems to spot someone in the distance. He pulls out a pair of rectangular-framed glasses and puts them on, smoothing down his hair and straightening his jacket. “Trying to blend in.” He winks and heads over. 

He talks to a shorter man who scowls and barks at him. Will works hard to keep from smiling. The man seems to notice and his rant becomes even more furious. Will turns to the camera and gives us a thumbs up. Eventually the man tires himself out and when Will offers him a business card, he snatches it out of WIll’s hand and storms away. 

“That was Roger,” Will says, grinning. “I asked him what he thought of one of the female contestants today and he called me a snowflake cuck or something, I’m not really sure, I was distracted trying to make sure he didn’t get too much spit on me. He was astoundingly rude.” Will sighs and brushes down the front of his coat. 

“He’s absolutely perfect.” 

—

It’s the night of Hannibal and Will’s anniversary dinner. In his bedroom in Wolf Trap, Will changes his shirt seventeen times before landing on a white one, the first one he’s tried on. It fits him like a glove, hugging the broad expanse of his shoulders and highlighting the smooth plane of his abdomen. 

“It’s a Zegna,” he explains, adjusting his cuffs and his collar. “I would never be able to afford something like this but it was a gift, from Hannibal. He insisted I never had anything appropriate to wear to his fancy vampire events but I’m still not convinced that dressing me up like an appetizer was his greatest idea. Like god, look at this collar, it’s like a giant _eat me_ sign on my neck.” Will spends the next few minutes fretting over his hair, combing it through with product that still lets his natural curls feature prominently. 

“Am I nervous? Only about a couple of things. I mean I want to make sure Roger shows up at the right time. I told him there was a meeting for local “critics of cultural Marxism,” and I think he bought it. I promised him we’d mass tweet at some female comedian who was in a comic book movie.

“I think Hannibal’s really going to enjoy him. I hope so.”

Will stares into the mirror for a long moment. This weekend marks the longest break Will has had in his duties as a familiar, the longest he’s gone without seeing Hannibal. 

“I’ve missed him.” 

—

Back in Baltimore, Hannibal steps out of his closet into his bedroom where Abigail waits with her smartphone in hand. He wears a dark burgundy three-piece suit with a bright white shirt and his perpetual paisley tie. He pauses in front of her, back straight and poised so she can take a picture. After the momentary flash of the camera, he walks over to her and leans in to see the photo. 

“No,” he says, his hand reaching up to his cufflinks to undo them. 

“What’s wrong with this one?”

“This colour is gauche. It reeks of desperation.” 

Abigail groans. “Hannibal, please, can you just _pick something._ We’ve been here for _hours_. I promise you he’s going to like whatever you wear.” 

“This is a special occasion,” Hannibal says, wandering back into his closet to leaf through his wardrobe. “It is important to be deliberate about self presentation. It shows someone you cherish the time you spend together.” He closes the door, and emerges in a new pair of dark navy pants and an undershirt. 

“I think Will knows how much you cherish him.”

“I’m not so certain.”

Abigail sighs as she watches him pick out a perfectly pressed shirt and re-iron it. She presses her hand to her mouth to hide a giggle. 

“Is something funny?” 

“You like him _so much_ ,” Abigail says, grinning. 

Hannibal furrows his brow, frowning down at his ironing. “He’s my friend.” 

“Sure. We all spend eight hours cooking dinner for our friends. We _all_ try on thirty-five— no sorry, thirty- _six_ suits to impress our friends.”

“Will deserves a hundred suits,” Hannibal says, deadly serious as he shrugs on a matching dark navy suit jacket. “He deserves everything and more.” 

“I’m telling him you said that,” Abigail says, holding up her phone again to take a picture. She shows it to Hannibal who finally seems satisfied with this clothing choice. 

“In that case I’ll tell him you would love nothing more than to go fly fishing with him.” 

“Hannibal—no. Okay, I was just joking.” 

“I thought so.” 

—

Hannibal paces in front of the door. On the other side, Will bounces on his feet nervously, his hand hovers above the door in a loose fist, poised to knock. Eventually one of our camera crew rings the doorbell. Hannibal rushes to open the door. He and Will stare at one another for a long moment before anyone says anything. 

“Will—“

“Hannibal—”

They speak at once, and then both laugh nervously. Hannibal moves out of the doorway and watches as Will enters. Will shrugs off his jacket and Hannibal rushes to take it from him and hang it up in the hallway closet. 

They don’t speak until they reach the kitchen. Hannibal has set a place for himself at the head of the table and Will kitty-corner beside him. Hannibal holds out the chair for Will as he takes his seat. Will glances up at him.

“Where’s Abigail tonight?” 

“She and Alana are hunting together.” 

Will hums, but doesn’t press further. They start with drinks, Hannibal pours him a generous finger of scotch, and drinks from his own glass of blood. They don’t speak, but the silence isn’t awkward. The two of them, at least, seem comfortable in it, content to stare at each other without speaking. After a while of that, Hannibal makes his way into the kitchen and brings out the first dish. He places it gently, proudly in front of Will. 

“We’ll start with an amuse bouche,” Hannibal says, “These are Belgian endives with a honeyed chèvre and pomegranate filling, sprinkled with sea salt and sumac.” 

Hannibal takes a seat, he fills Will’s wine glass with Sauvignon Blanc. He waits as Will spears one delicately with his fork and cuts one of the little cups in half. He brings the smaller bite up to his mouth and his eyes light up as he chews. He swallows and follows the bite with a sip of his wine. 

“Hannibal, that’s incredible.” 

“We’re only getting started.” 

Will smiles, after he’s finished his appetizer, Hannibal clears his plate and comes back with the next dish. 

“This is a French consommé recipe taught to me in the court of Louis XIV, it uses a homemade bone broth.” 

This time, Hannibal pours a little blood into a shallow soup dish, like the one in which he’s served Will’s meal. He sips it with a little spoon. Will stares.

“It’s a nice gesture,” he says, “the bowl.” 

“I know you feel awkward that I cannot eat with you. I appreciate that you indulge me in this regardless.” 

“Do you miss eating food?”

“I would miss watching you eat it.”

Will is silent for a moment. He takes a sip of his soup, and then slowly reaches up to his collar. He decided to forgo a tie and had already left the top button undone, but he reaches for the second one as well. The shirt spreads wide across his neck, which he rubs a little for emphasis. 

“It’s a little warm in here,” he explains to Hannibal whose gaze is transfixed by Will’s actions. 

Hannibal meets Will’s eyes then, and when he speaks his voice is slightly choked. “Perhaps I should open a window.” 

“No need,” Will says, and he gestures again at his exposed neck. “Better now.” 

Hannibal swallows, stands, and cracks a window anyway. 

—

Will is cutting into his entree— a wagyu steak, lightly seared and paired with a new potato puree and roasted sprouts. Hannibal pairs this dish with a bloodred cabernet. 

“So what did you get up to while I was gone?” 

“I saw Bedelia a few times. And then Abigail and I went to Bedelia’s one time. I also went on a hunt, with Bedelia.” 

“I bet she was a better opera date than me.” 

“Immeasurably so. Still, I hope you come with me next time.”

Will’s hand that was reaching towards his wine glass freezes. “You hope?” 

Hannibal looks caught out, a little surprised. “I suppose one cannot make their familiars too miserable with their demands.” 

“It didn’t make me miserable to go to the opera with you, Hannibal. I was scared all your friends wanted to eat me, but, I know you always made sure they wouldn’t.” 

“Of course.” 

“And besides, that won’t be an issue once I’m a vampire.” 

Hannibal’s expression shutters. He takes a sip from his glass and looks away. Will sighs. 

“I hung out with Alana a lot this past week.” 

“How is she?” Hannibal asks, a little stiff, still looking away. 

“She’s great. She was telling me, actually about how you turned her after two months of knowing her. Months.” 

“The circumstances were very different back then. I was much younger.” 

“Did it help that she slept with you? Did it happen in the throes of passion? Did you lose control?” 

“Will.” The vampire’s tone is full of warning.

“Hannibal?” Will feigns innocence and tilts his head, once again baring his neck. “Do you have a bed?” 

This time when Hannibal stands, he knocks against the table, sending the dishes and cutlery clattering. Will stands too, there’s a challenge in his stance. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Hannibal grits out. Will steps out from behind his chair and gets into Hannibal’s space, he stares up at him. 

“You don’t want to?” 

Hannibal sighs. He sits back down and stares at his hands. He looks defeated. Will looks down at him. His expression has changed to one of concern. 

“Hannibal?” 

“Bedelia told me I should tell you how I feel. I only wish it was so simple.”

“Tell me what?” Will lowers himself onto his knees, he stares up at Hannibal, the picture of supplication. “How do you feel?”

“I feel terrified by the measures I would go to to keep you. Truly and utterly terrified in a way I haven’t felt for centuries. It feels disturbingly human, to pine and agonize for you like I have. I don’t think I even remember what it was like to be human, except when I’m with you, and I fear… I fear I’m growing addicted to this feeling. I fear that when you leave you’ll take some part of me with you and I don’t know how I’ll go another eternity without it.” 

“What— leave you? Hannibal why would you think I’d leave you?” 

Hannibal takes a shaky breath. He turns towards Will and takes his face in his hands. “You won’t go? When I turn you?” 

“I’ll stay,” Will says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll be able to stay forever.” 

Hannibal sweeps his thumb reverently along WIll’s cheekbone. He stares at him, his eyes roving over every inch of his face with such intensity he barely reacts as Will calls his name. He finally meets Will’s eyes. 

“So _do_ you have a bed?” 

—

About an hour later, Will and Hannibal emerge from Hannibal’s bedroom, drawn out by the insistent ringing of the doorbell. They are both in states of disarray. Will’s shirt is hanging off of his shoulders, crumpled where it’s been pulled out of his slacks, which are hastily buttoned with the fly half-zipped. Hannibal is missing his jacket. Will’s hair is in wild disarray, and Hannibal’s is loose from his usually carefully combed back style and hangs over his forehead, trailing over his eyes. 

“Fuck. I forgot.” Will closes his eyes and presses his hands over his face. His cheeks flushed and his lips are swollen. The doorbell rings again and again and starts ringing over and over. Then someone bangs against the door. Will sighs. “I got you a virgin.”

Hannibal blinks. He doesn’t move. 

“You should go get it, Hannibal, you haven’t had anything fresh to eat tonight, and he’s not exactly a patient guy. We can… we can pick up after. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Hannibal is still frozen. He breathes heavily, staring at Will. Will furrows his brow, he steps closer to him. “Hannibal?”

In a split second, Hannibal reaches out, curling his hands around Will’s hips and drawing him close. He kisses Will, deeply and thoroughly, pressing their bodies together. Hannibal moves from Will’s lips, kissing down the line of his jaw and finally, nuzzling into Will’s neck as he trembles and whimpers. He whispers against Will’s jugular. “Come and eat him with me.” 

“Yes,” Will whispers back, “Hannibal, _please_.” 

At last, Hannibal sinks his teeth into Will’s neck.

—

“I vote that the dogs move in with us,” Abigail says, “That’s two against one.” 

Hannibal looks exasperated. Will only shrugs, fighting a smile he says, “The people have spoken.” 

“You assume my house is a democracy,” Hannibal says, crossing his arms over his chest. He holds this strict stance for a couple more moments. Will and Abigail glance at each other and then back at him. Until finally, Hannibal cracks a smile. 

“On the strict condition that they do not shed on my furniture. Half of it is from Versailles.” 

Abigail cheers. Will rushes up to Hannibal and wraps his arms around his waist, pressing his cheek against Hannibal’s chest and grinning, his fangs sharp and prominent. Hannibal wraps his arms around Will, then holds one out, gesturing for Abigail to join their hug. She rushes over, wrapping her arms around the both of them. They giggle in their hug pile like any ordinary family. 

“I can’t wait,” Abigail says, finally extricating herself from the hug. “Let’s go get them now.” 

Hannibal and Will still hold on to each other, and Hannibal glances down at Will. “Is your truck still parked at your place? I don’t want them in my car.” 

Will rolls his eyes. “God forbid they dirty your beemer.” Hannibal frowns so Will leans up to kiss him. “Yes, it’s still parked there.” 

“Alright then,” Hannibal says. “Let’s go.”

They step out onto the porch, one by one, each turning into a bat before they fly off into the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> do you ever watch this show and forget it's not a wacky silly rom-com? yeah, me too. 
> 
> title from decode by paramore


End file.
